Vida.

"What? Me? You looking at me?"

I looked away. I had completely forgotten that I had been staring at the man for over 10 minutes now. Scratching my leg and lifting it up against the tiled pillar of the Metro Railway platform, I put my right index finger on the tip of my nose, closed my left eye and tried looking at my knuckle. Through a quick squint to my left I could see a group of school-girls giggling, probably amused by my madness; another group of people were coming down the stairs, seven, eight, ten, fourteen people, hurrying, hardly glancing ahead. Everybody was running. Everything was moving. I saw the crumpled paper glass and the coke that had spilled from it, still having my left eye closed and looking at everything through the focus of my knuckle. It was my .270 caliber rifle. My 35mm camera. My shot at life. Or vice versa.

Our house got sold. Today. I was the witness. It's funny how people still can't pronounce my name and get tired at the third try. It still amuses me.

My dad is still in the hospital. I heard the doctors say among themselves, "He's taking a pretty darn long time to die. You watched Mar Ardentro? Huh? Argentinian, na?" I smiled. Spanish, I whispered to myself. Spanish. I held my dad's hand today, he still can't feel anything, but reports say that the efficiency has increased by a percentage. Pretty darn long time to die ...

People have come out with amazingly new ways to get into MIT. Look, ma, a hack!

Me and Miyuki are together. She is probably sleeping right now.

This is my last night at my home. I am leaving it. After nine years.

I saw Babel. It had me speechless for a complete minute after Gustavo Santaolalla's Bibi No Aozora played during the end credits.

The train in which my friend was crashed. He is safe.



Somebody tapped my shoulder and I turned around.

"Do I know you?"

I smiled. Do I?